


Failed Step One

by Kiki_G_Marie



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Communication Failure, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Meddling Kids, Misunderstandings, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-07-27 11:36:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7616512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiki_G_Marie/pseuds/Kiki_G_Marie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Hanzo Shimada is hopeless, Jesse McCree is so, SO goddamn confused, and meddling kids are meddling kids, even if some of them are in their thirties and/or are particularly well-meaning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Failed Step One

If you were to ask him, Jesse McCree would tell you that despite all outward appearances, he’s pretty damn okay at reading people. He’s a sharpshooter, after all. Got an eye for every twitch and tell a body can show. Out of courtesy to those around them, however, he generally doesn’t acknowledge what he sees unless it’s about to win him a hand of poker. Or if it’s particularly worrisome.

What he’s been observing over the past few weeks falls into the latter category, unfortunately.

It’s 0900 hours at Watchpoint Gibraltar. The members of the ragtag Overwatch team that Winston had pulled together almost half a year ago are varying degrees of awake and rowdy, on a scale of Lena-Chipper and Hana-Comatose, filling the dining area with sounds of excited laughter and pained groans.

There are a few notable exceptions, of course. Zarya and Mei are on a joint mission to recruit new members on the sly and reestablish some key eco-watchpoints in the north. Nobody has seen Torbjörn for a week, though they’re not worried since they can still hear the occasional explosion and cascade of Swedish curses coming from his locked room. (Angela is making sure he eats, thankfully. McCree swears they’d all be dead within a month without her there to hit them over the head repeatedly with her sometimes-literal no-nonsense stick.)

That left only one absence Jesse couldn't explain. And it wasn't the first time they'd gone unaccounted for. Thus, his worry.

“Hey, Genji?” McCree asks, sidling up next to the cyborg as he speaks and sliding his mug of coffee to rest in front of him. Genji Shimada is sitting at the kitchen counter, maskless, drinking an alarmingly chunky smoothie and with an untouched blueberry muffin at his elbow. It’s a testament to how comfortable he’s become over the past few months here at Watchpoint, that he’s willing to take off the mask around others. It warms McCree’s heart to see, it really does. He and Genji had always been good friends, they’d practically hit it off at first sight all those years ago. So he knew how much Genji Shimada’s body, his scars, his LIFE, had bothered him all these years. But since he’d found his Zen (and no, McCree had never once gotten a laugh from Genji for that one), he’d been better. Warmer than ever before, lighter in every possible way. Like the lead weight he’d been pretending not to carry for a decade had finally been lifted away.

 _Ugh, we’ve got a larger issue at hand, here, boy. Focus._ McCree shakes the thoughts out of his head. Save them warm fuzzy feelings for later, maybe, but not now.

“How can I help you, Jesse?” Genji answers, smiling placidly at McCree. He takes another drink of the (green… blue…?) concoction in his hand, with a completely straight face. McCree blinks and grimaces out of sympathy.

“Uhm… y-y'know your brother…?” he trails off, suddenly aware that he has no idea how to phrase his burning question.

“I should hope so.” Genji raises an eyebrow in amusement.

“No, I mean! Your brother, Hanzo, he’s uh… have you talked to him recently?” McCree finds his words again, this time by stumbling on them. Great.

“We speak every evening actually, yes.” Genji nods, the ghost of a smile hovering on his lips as he takes another sip.

“Good! That’s good. Uhm…” McCree bites his lip for a moment. “Has he mentioned anything about me… to you?"

Genji cocked his head to the side. His eyes seemed to sparkle a bit before he answered, causing McCree to narrow his own in suspicion.

"Hm. Are you worried that he has not come to breakfast today, perhaps?" Genji has a shit poker face. He’s trying for nonchalance and exuding knowing smugness, and McCree doesn’t like it one bit. But at the question, he finally finds the right wording for his own.

“Well, no. I mean, yes? It’s not just breakfast. I know he’s been around, everyone’s seen him, talked to him, trained with him, what have you.” McCree scratches at the nape of his neck nervously. “But _I_ haven’t seen him in two weeks. And every time I catch a glimpse it’s like he disappears into thin air, or I’ve just missed him. I feel like he’s…”

“Avoiding you?” Genji finishes, after another long gulp of his drink. “I promise you, that’s not what’s been happening. He speaks of you in quite glowing terms, actually. For him. Which means only using his mildest insults when referring to you.”

“So… I didn’t do somethin’ to piss him off?” McCree asks cautiously. “I thought we were getting along pretty well, ‘s all, and I didn’t know if I offended him or made him uncomfortable, but I enjoy his company, and I thought it’d be a damn shame not to try to fix things…” McCree knew he was rambling, and his ears were getting red at the amount of redundant nonsense currently pouring from his mouth. Genji held up a hand to silence him, then poured the rest of the gross-looking concoction in his glass down his throat, before responding.

“You need not worry about it, Jesse. I’m sure it’s just been bad luck that you haven’t run into each other in a while. We’ve all been a bit busy lately, and Hanzo especially has been putting in a lot of extra, unnecessary time to training harder. He’s anal-retentive like that.” Genji looks him right in the eyes as he says it, clamping a hand down on McCree’s shoulder and shaking it slightly in reassurance.

McCree exhales in relief. Genji’s not one to bullshit for the sake of bullshitting. If he says that’s not what’s going on, McCree can take him at his word.

“Alright then. If you think nothing’s wrong, I believe you.” McCree says with a small smile. “But uh. One more question.”

“Yes?”

“Did you actually _enjoy_ that sludge you were drinking just now?”

“Oh, no. _HELL_ no. It tastes like ass.” Genji replies with a grimace so potent that McCree has to bite back a laugh.

“Then… why did you drink it all in one go like that?” McCree asks slowly, lips twitching.

“Because it tastes less awful all at once. And… Angela made it for me. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.” Genji murmurs, pouting sulkily.

“… Uh-huh.” McCree raises his eyebrows. “Well, just so you know, since you finished it, she’s gonna want to refill it for you in a couple minutes with a big ol’ hopeful smile on her face.”

“Oh, God. I didn’t even _think_ of that.” Genji groaned, smacking his head against the counter. McCree laughs and gives him a half-assed salute as he grabs his mug and starts walking away from the dining area.

“Good luck, Genji! Don’t go crushing any dreams, now!” McCree croons, not at all shocked when an expertly thrown blueberry muffin splats against the wall beside his head. He walks down the corridor with his sides nearly splitting from laughter.

Genji, meanwhile, head still resting against the counter, has miraculously managed to smother his own laughing fit. Just barely. Shoulders shaking with unspent giggles, he shoots off a quick, three-word text.

_“failed step one.”_

The response was an almost immediate string of texts consisting mostly of foul language, and more than a few accusatory “EXPLAINs” and “WHAT DID YOU DOs”.

 

* * *

 

Walking back down the hallway to his room, McCree stared pensively at his boots. He’s relieved that the elder Shimada brother isn’t avoiding him, but that still doesn’t explain why he hasn’t seen hide nor hair of him for a full two weeks. Before, they were eating, talking, and training together practically every day. It just didn’t make any damn sense, and it was bothering the hell outta---

“Oh. Hello, McCree.”

His head immediately shot up, eyes wide. _Speak of the devil and he doth appear…_

“Shimada-san!” he exclaimed, stopping in his tracks. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes!”

Hanzo Shimada pursed his lips, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the nearby wall. He looked like he’d just been running a marathon, breathing minutely labored and face flushed, with Stormbow slung haphazardly over his shoulder.

“Surely it has not been long enough to warrant that particular expression.” He said shortly. McCree simply grins wide, too happy to finally see Hanzo to feel cowed by his usual grouchiness.

“It’s been a good couple weeks, Shimada-san. I was startin’ to worry something had gone wrong!” McCree laughed and gestured to Stormbow. “You been training this morning?”

“Yes. I have had a lot of free time lately. I decided to make good use of it.” Hanzo says, averting his eyes slightly. McCree frowns at the near-shame he reads in Hanzo’s expression, and clicks his tongue.

“To hell with that, Shimada-san, you’re practically a demon in the field already!” he says, clapping his organic hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. “Your free time should be your _free time_. You don’t have to fill it up with this busywork nonsense to prove anything!”

“It’s not busywork to hone one’s skills in---” Hanzo protested, but McCree cut him off with a wave of his coffee mug.

“Shut yer trap, Shimada-san. We still have about a week of free time before our next big operation. So _we_ ,” he gestured between the two of them with a sly smile, “are gonna get drinks tonight.”

“I… if you would like to, then I suppose…” Hanzo said hesitantly, but McCree had already accepted it as a “yes”.

“Great! See you later!” McCree waved at Hanzo cheerily before continuing along his way.

As McCree’s cheery whistling echoed more and more distantly down the hallway, Hanzo allowed himself to slump against the wall in exhaustion, resting his hands on his knees. After a few moments, he took out his phone, seeing about fifty unread messages, with more incoming. The most recent went something like:

  _“WOOOO! way 2 go, hanzo! ( >3O)”_

  _“somebody has a date~. >:3c”_

_“Smooth, anija. Practically poetry. I liked the part where you tried to lecture him on the merits of honing one’s skills in battle.”_

_“oh shush luv, he was trying!”_

_"I would like to point out that, smooth or not, he not only fixed the mess YOU got him into, he’s also going out for drinks with McCree. I’d call that a success.”_

_"I resent that! It's not my fault he took my advice to an inhuman level of extreme!"_

_"Still..."_

_“Did u really run that whole way just to intercept him, Shimada-san? Are u alright???”_

 Hanzo groaned, shoving the heels of his hands into his eyes. It took all his strength to remind himself that one, he had ASKED for  help, two, he was not allowed to kill his teammates, and three, he was DOUBLY not allowed to kill his brother a second time. Gritting his teeth and keeping that in mind, he sent a response.

  _“What now?”_

 After a frenzy of “so-and-so is typing” notifications, a single message finally comes through.

  _“i gotchu, hanzo! nuthin 2 it, just need a new step one!”_

 Hanzo, subsequently, fought the urge to slam his head into the wall.

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, okay. I, a human disaster, have a bad habit of projecting onto characters I love and cherish. Thus, this monstrosity. A Study in Human Disasters in Seven Parts, by Kiji Marie. The chapters after this one might be a bit longer. We'll see.


End file.
